


Management for Dummies

by orphan_account



Category: Bloodsucking Bastards (2015)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Choking, Clothed Sex, Dom/sub, F/M, Fucking, Gratuitous Smut, Masochism, Office Sex, Shameless Smut, Vampire Bites, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, but really it's dom vs dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:48:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22883551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Max wants you. You want Max. Vampire sex is the best, honestly.
Relationships: Max Phillips (Bloodsucking Bastards)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Management for Dummies

Max Phillips.  _ Max Phillips.  _ Your boss. A fine specimen of a man. And completely and utterly off-limits because of these three rules. 1) You don’t fuck your boss. There are pros to this and there are cons to this, and you consider yourself a rather pragmatic girl so why would you allow a man who already has power over you in the workplace have power over you in the bedroom, as well? That would be stupid.

2) You don’t fuck a bachelor-type of man. Granted, you’ve never seen him outside of this looming, jarringly white building with, oddly enough, no windows to let in the light of day. Although you have been watching him (no, that’s not creepy; sometimes it gets boring, that’s all) and you’ve deduced a few umbrella personality traits. He’s cocky, he’s overtly petty, and he’s successful. So, that’s not necessarily a personality trait, but the point is that successful men think they have it all and, therefore, no man or woman can resist their charm.

3) He’s way out of your league. No explanation needed other than this is you acting like it’s high school all over again. Which, to be fair, most of your coworkers have seemingly never left, so that statement is not that far off. But on those summer days when the office gets too be just a little too warm and Max removes his jacket to walk freely around with his white button-up sleeves rolled to his forearms and his waistcoat is hugging him just right, you essentially embody a swooning, Victorian maiden. 

But what is a lowly receptionist to do other than taking and receiving call after call and occasionally referring the few visitors to Max’s office ‘it’s just to your right!’? Suffer during the day with either a toy or your hand during the night, that’s what.

“Daydreaming, are we?”

Max’s dark, handsome figure leans over where you’re propped up with your chin in hand, previously staring off into a land of sinful imagination when you should’ve been answering the blaring ring of the phone. You desperately wish he wasn’t wearing his full suit so that you could see the muscles of his forearms taut and stretched with the weight he places them under. 

“No, sir.” In an effort to distract yourself and prove you weren’t just reminiscing about last night’s fantasy involving a certain self-assured, egotistical man, you reach to answer the phone but the second your painted hand wraps around the base it stops. The green button of the receiver begins blinking as it does when you’ve been left a voicemail. 

Your eyes dart back to his face infinitesimally close to yours. Short, brown hair perfectly styled, eyebrows, nose, and the crinkles of his eyes in the corners his most prominent features, and tan skin all the way down to where his shirt collar is popped open by just a single button. Maybe he doesn’t notice the way your eyes trail down the planes of his neck and back up or the way they linger on his plush lips.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take your break?” A question by grammar rules, but a statement—a demand—by the fluctuation of his deep, gravelly voice.

“Of course, Mr. Phillips. Thank you.”

His lips turn up in that mock smile he does so well; the show is there for the shells of the humans he manages, but none of the real happiness, none of the real optimism reaches his brown eyes. Perhaps that’s what makes him such a good manager, this acting he’s long perfected in front of those he allows only a single, bleak surface of his personality to show. 

Gathering your belongings, you race from your desk with a haste that leaves your swivel chair spinning and Max still leaning over your desk with a growing smirk. 

A calm atmosphere, deep breaths, and clenched thighs. The last one is an annoying inconvenience because the last thing you want to do is relieve yourself in the women’s restroom with the very probable chance of getting caught. Especially with your inability to keep quiet; having your moans echoed back into your own ears would be salt to the wound. 

No, you’re going to sit here in this boring breakroom eating your boring salad and think about boring things that are NOT Max Phillips. But you can’t help the restlessness of your legs. You’ve been shifting, bouncing, and crossing one over the other so much you’ve probably frayed your pantyhose where your thighs chaff together. Even the buzzing of the old fridge isn’t louder than the buzzing of your thoughts.

The sound of the door opening on his squeaky hinges distracts your mind, if only momentarily, but when you turn to look, you’re scrambling to push the chair back against the hard carpet to stand with an exclaim, “Mr. Phillips!”

“Please, call me Max.” His eyes flick up to you as he fiddles with the cuff of his shirt at the absence of your reply. “Or you can call me sir, I enjoy that too.”

“I-sir-Max-”

“At a loss for words? You’re a receptionist, isn’t that your job? To talk?” 

As he torments you he slowly backs you against the wall until you’re pressed tightly up against it with nowhere else to go. His hands are either side of you, caging you in and your head turns in equal parts fear and embarrassment at this turn of events. You can feel his nose grazing along the smooth skin of your neck, feel the deep  _ sniff?  _ he takes. 

“You smell  _ delicious _ ,” he whispers hungrily, the final word a growl with his lips dragging along the underside of your jaw.

“What?” Is that some kind of dirty talk? You wouldn’t know, seeing as you haven’t been much of a kinky person before. 

Perhaps Max is as domineering in the sheets as he is in the streets, and very vocal about it too. The intrusive thoughts make your thighs clench for the millionth time, except you hadn’t noticed Max’s leg pinned between you, so when you squeeze you have to physically bite your tongue to keep the moan inside at the friction of your clit against his knee. 

“Oh, honey, I haven’t even done anything to you, yet,” he says, words dripping with mock sweetness as if he’s an adult berating a child with the incentive of candy for being good. “I knew I was right to choose you first.”

You can’t contain the second moan as he licks one, long, wet stripe up the plane of your neck with his tongue. Then it turns into a harsh gasp of pain when you feel a set of sharp fangs bite into the exact spot he’d marked. Your vision goes white, your body turns to fire, shrill ringing blares in your ears, and the tangy smell of blood pumping through veins invades your nostrils like a barbeque on a summer day.

Once your eyes open again, you find Max’s inspecting gaze no longer obtrusive but intriguing. His eyes flicker back and forth between yours and they somehow seem brighter and livelier than ever before. Something trickles down your neck; your hand reaches up to cease the tickling, encounters something thick and wet, and when you bring your hand around to inspect, you aren’t surprised to find it’s dark red blood. 

“You make the sweetest of noises.” The addicting symphony of his voice penetrates any and all other thoughts racing through your mind as you stare back up at him. His large hand wraps around your wrist, and it looks so wonderfully dainty in its grasp, and he smiles, showing off those magnificent, red-stained fangs before swiping his tongue out and licking your hand clean. “Mm, tasty. Break time’s over.”

With those curt words as a goodbye, he’s straightening his red tie and unwrinkling his suit jacket, leaving you standing dazed and on fire. Your untouched salad has never looked more unappetizing. But now you’re wondering whether you want human blood or Max’s lips as your first vampire meal. 

~ ~ ~

The last five hours of your shift have never felt so long and so draining in your life. Sitting here in this stupid swivel chair answering calls left and right, typing up perfunctory emails, just doing your actual job while trying to pretend everything is normal? The animalistic taste for blood was gnawing at your insides, but the animalistic taste for Max was gnawing at a far larger margin. 

He’d spent the rest of the workday in his office just off to your left, taking his visitors at their allotted time on the dot. Each time his door opened, his overwhelming scent wafted over you, effectively turning you more and more feral with each passing hour. You wondered each time if he felt the same, if your scent was just as intoxicating. 

Finally, the hands of the office clock reach five o’clock and the rush of tired, under-compensated, mindless workers make their way to squeeze together in the elevator in the desperate effort to go home every night. Phones put up, files away, and monitors turned off—all is quiet save for the synchronized breathing of you and Max from separate rooms.

You can hear it crystal clear. A personified anticipation. Your phone rings, but it’s already to your ear before the first tone. “My office, please.” Needless, since you can hear his real voice echoed as if there isn’t an entire wall to muffle the sound. 

A tube of deep, red lipstick sits at the bottom of your purse and you pull it out to rub it thickly onto your plump lips. A touch to your mascara, the smoothing of your skirt, popping open a few buttons of your silk blouse; just a few primadonna things before you answer your boss’ call. 

He’s standing, hands clasped professionally behind his back, staring at a cheap, unoriginal motivational poster—one of many lining the walls of his bland office. However, he turns at the sound of your entrance, an eyebrow raised as if he knows of your quick touch-up. 

“You look better,” he states, noticeably eyeing you up and down and you purr under his gaze. 

“I feel worse.” Your response is completely true, though not in a way any lowly humans could understand. 

A dramatic frown graces his handsome face. “And how’s that, sweetie?”

“You.” A step forward. “Smell.” Another step.

“Delicious?”

“Yes.” With a speed unparalleled, you’ve shoved Max against the wall with a loud, audible thud, both of you uncaring for the cracks splintered into the plaster from beneath his back. 

“Ferocious, I like it.”

Wordlessly, you take a deep inhale just as he’d done before, inebriating yourself off of his smell. The tendons of his neck stretch taut, allowing you full access to each protruding vein that you lick and suck. Then, your mouth opens wide to prepare for dinner, your fangs forming and sinking into the tan, supple skin. 

The tiniest of pinpricks create such a steady flow of hot, thick blood to pour into your mouth and all of it tastes so exquisitely of Max. Manicured fingers tighten their aggressive hold on the lapels of his black jacket, pulling his body closer. You release him, having had your fill, for now, lapping up the remnants and watching as the two bite wounds heal immediately.

“How do I taste?” he asks, and you love the way his skin vibrates with his voice against your lips. 

“Divine.” All that is left as a clue to your sinful act is the smudge of lipstick in the print of a kiss stained into his skin. 

“Show me.” 

A hand grips your chin forcefully, lifting it up so he can crush his lips against yours, delving his tongue inside and drinking the residual copper-like taste. What’s left when he pulls away, forces you apart, is a mess of blood-stained lips and teeth. 

Silence stretches across eternity as you stare at one another with darkening looks and widening pupils. Then Max is shoving you backward until your lower back is digging painfully into the edge of his desk, the force of which causes it to teeter on two legs before falling back down with a thump. 

You watch him remove his suit jacket with a feral look in your eyes, tearing your inner self apart from wanting to simultaneously rip his clothes off of him and wanting to watch him undress himself. Next comes the matching waistcoat that he deliberating unbuttons as slowly and methodically as possible, and he even has the gall to smirk as if the victory has fallen to him. 

He hasn’t, oh no. As he flings it off to the side, you grasp his red tie in hand and yank him forward. Close and personal, your heavy breath falling across his face like a treat he cannot yet have. Knee up, you begin rubbing it over his bulge, feeling his muscles tense and listening to the groan that involuntarily escapes.

Keeping hold of his leash, you’re now pushing him around the desk and into his chair, this time slow and sensually, keeping your eyes locked with his. He sits so obediently, face full of hunger and lust as you slide your skirt off before spreading your legs over his tented lap. 

Smirking, you rip open his white shirt, buttons and thread flying every which way, hands sliding over his tanned pecks, ribs, stomach. Then, digging your fingernails deeply into his skin, you scratch angry, red lines all the way down his torso. The sensation has him jerking up with a gasp, hands reaching up to wrap around you but you grasp them tightly and bring them to lock around the back of his chair.

With the same mock sweetness he uses so often, you tut, “You know better than that.”

Gripping hold of his leash once again, you tighten the knot around his throat just to hear his breathing labor in your ear as you begin rotating your hips along his clothed dick. Your other hand braces you against the arm of the chair as you make a mess of your panties and pantyhose, the friction just enough to get you off if you wanted to fuck with Max that much. 

Suddenly, his arms are back around and you’re about to belittle him for his disobedience and incompetence at following rules before he says, “I’m the boss here.” 

He stands with hands under your ass and your legs automatically locked around his waist and, pushing every single item to the floor in one, great sweep, slams you down onto the hardwood of his desk. The force makes you wince in pain, but he’s shucking off the tattered remains of his shirt and ridding himself of his stupid, red tie. 

He repays your kindness by ripping open your pink, satin shirt, buttons and thread flying, only he doesn’t stop until the clothing is just simple shreds that fall to the floor around you. And he seems almost offended that you should wear a bra and further impeded his path to your luscious breasts, so he reaches around and rips that off too. 

Unrelenting, he’s licking and sucking and biting around each one, teething catching and pulling hard on your erect nipples. It’s effectively made you a shivering, moaning, gasping mess beneath his assault, and all you can do is card your fingers through his hair in an effort to keep him there forever. 

But his tongue trails lower, down your sternum and stomach, fangs catching every so often on your skin, the feeling of which makes you jump with pleasure each time. He looks up at you, keeps his gaze locked with yours as he takes hold of your panties and pantyhose and pulls them down and off. 

“So wet, so delicious.” He takes a generous bite out of your inner thigh, and the moan that you release is pure, unadulterated filth.

As he’s drinking your blood, two fingers slide inside, brutally stretching and teasing your cunt. They crook together to the point where it’s almost painful, and that makes you want to come faster. He releases your thigh, mouth full of blood even as he makes the smooth transition to your silky folds. Fingers are removed in favor of his tongue doing the rest of the work and you can feel the liquids mixing together as Max swallows it all gleefully. 

His grip on your thighs is tight, bruising as you begin to clench around his head, nearing your climax. He swallows all of that too as you cum into his greedy mouth, dragging your release for as long as possible into the stretch of overstimulation that brings tears to well up in your eyes. 

The mess you are beneath him is only embarrassing so long as you let him keep control. Although, you stay in your submissive position, chest now slick with sweat and glinting with every rise and fall, eyeing him as he removes himself of his shoes and pants. His dick is massive, long and girthy and the veins are painfully prominent by now as it stands fully hardened. 

His form looms over you, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, and it tightens as he pushes into you without remorse, fully sheathing himself in one, fluid motion. Your gasp is lost with your breath as he crushes your windpipe. Mercy doesn’t exist when he pulls all the way out before slamming back into you so hard that you almost go sliding off of the desk. His thrusts are hard and fast and uncaring for your pleasure for now with the way Max is grunting. 

But your pussy is feeling the pleasure. The stretch and burn is amazing paired with the loss of air in your lungs. You bring a leg up to wrap him and pull him closer, but he stops immediately. “I call the shots, baby.”

Fury blazes in your eyes as you’d momentarily forgotten what position you’d placed yourself in, so when he begins moving again you sit up. These newfound powers are so convenient when you want to throw your boss onto his desk so you can crawl over him and ride him at your pace. But now before picking your soaked panties up off of the floor and shoving them into his mouth. 

“That’s for thinking you had any control over me,” you leer, grinning like a madwoman. 

You’re pumping up and down over him, bouncing at a frenzied pace and getting high off the stench of blood and sex permeating the air. Your anchor is now his throat, your other hand taking hold of his and allowing him to grasp one flailing breast. That bundle of nerves deep in your core is tightening, so you bend down and sink your fangs into his neck as you finally climax after an entire day of edging yourself. 

Max pulls your panties from his mouth, sinking his fangs into your neck as he chases his own release. You’re cumming together, drinking each other’s blood, limbs wrapped around each other. Filthy, lewd moans fill the air, vibrating into your necks as you take your fill to quench your constant thirst. Like an orchestrated symphony, you release each other and, trailing gleaming, red blood along your cheeks, bring your lips together to taste yourselves on your tongues. 

“Be my queen and help me rule this office,” he whispers into you, almost begging like the greedy boy he is.

Your hands grasp his cheeks so tenderly, so opposite from the events previous and your soft, mischievous smile tells him all he needs to know. 


End file.
